


A Much Needed Misunderstanding

by starchaser22



Series: Seven Day Fic Challenge [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Superman (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, sorry that dick is in everything i just love my beautiful sunshine, they gay, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 02:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starchaser22/pseuds/starchaser22
Summary: Prompt:"I don't have a date for this huge party and I desperately need one and you're not totally my first choice but no one else can make it feat. lots of mutual pining"Also I deviated from the prompt a little because, well, yeah.Edited 4/28/18





	A Much Needed Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> wow yikes look who posted day five of the seven day challenge two months late hahahahaaahhhh
> 
> _Edited 4/28/18 - Fixed the part where Bruce is in a suit and then suddenly not, as well as the part where Clark and Bruce are talking, and then suddenly not (also, some italics and grammar mistakes)._

"Clark, I need something from you," Bruce growled. He really hated doing this, hated asking favors from people.

"Hey, Bruce! What do you need?" Clark's voice was muffled through the phone, background static reducing the quality.

"You have to come to a charity event with me."

"Okay," and that was that. Sweet little Clark, always determined to help those around him. He would almost definitely ask questions later on, and Bruce would certainly be taunted by Diana, but as long as someone went with him to the absolutely _dreadful_ event, he could push through it.

It wasn't until Clark actually showed up at his door the night of the event in sweatpants and a t-shirt that Bruce began to worry.

"Clark, sweetie," He began, voice bland and expression carefully crafted as to not show his irritation. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize that it was suddenly okay for Superman to visit Wayne Manor," Clark teased.

And then it dawned on him, and Bruce realized his mistake. How could he have been so foolish? Clark didn't question any of this because he had just assumed that it would be _Batman_ and _Superman_ patrolling the perimeter.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, Superman isn't going to anything. I wanted you, _Clark Kent_ , to come to the event with me, _Bruce Wayne_."

Realization dawned on Clark as he cast Bruce a once-over. He dropped his hands at his sides, exasperated. "So what am I going to do? Do you want me to run back home?"

"No, no, the event starts in a half hour. You'll just have to find something here."

"Sorry, but I'm not sure anything you own will fit-"

"Maybe not perfectly, but between me, Dick, and Jason, we will be able to find you _something_."

The two of them only had to search for a few seconds before Clark came stumbling out of the master closet, jet black suit in hand. "Can I use this?"

Bruce shrugged. "If you think it will fit."

Clark disappeared, using his speed to return within a few seconds, dressed in the newfound outfit.

Bruce didn't mean to stare. Truly, Bruce _never_ stared. The chance of Bruce staring is less than the chance that he would get struck by lightning. But, as Clark strolled from the bathroom, long, slim fingers adjusting his collar, Bruce couldn't help but avert his gaze, taking note of how absolutely _stunning_ his friend looked.

Clark noticed Bruce's actions, teasing him with a, "Like what you see?" accompanied by a sly smirk dancing on his lips.

Bruce looked up, maintaining dead eye contact as he said, "I don't think I've ever seen you in something that's not blue, red, or obviously from Kansas."

"Yeah, yeah," Clark batted the statements away with the wave of a hand. "So why aren't you dressed?"

"I have everything laid out, I just always wait to get dressed in case something else comes up." He was referring to bat-related things, of course.

Clark looked down at his arm (because only would _he_ still wear a watch) before saying, "Doesn't it start in like, ten minutes?"

"I change fast."

" _Uh huh_ ," Clark crossed his arms over his chest, shifting weight over to one leg. He shot a signature _disapproving-Clark-Kent-smile_ at him; one of the ones where his lips were upturned, but eyebrows were creased and his eyes were squinted.

Bruce's nose crinkled. He does need to go get ready, but he also wants to sit here and defy Clark. He knew this wouldn't work, but, "Can you go let Alfred know to get the car ready?"

Clark rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything as he strolled from the room.

\-----------------------------

The party was not as much of a disaster as anticipated.

In fact, everything had pretty much gone off without a hitch, as smooth as can be, until Dick just _had_ to ruin it.

"I know you're going to insist that this isn't a date, but really, good for you, finally asking Clark out," Dick congratulated, hand firm on Bruce's shoulder, only a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Bruce felt himself instinctively growl (it was strange, but Batman had to do it a lot, okay?) but there was no use in trying to convince Dick that no, this really is _not_ a date.

"I would have thought that sharing clothes is more of a date three sort of thing, but you two did always do everything out of order," Dick starred with amusement at Bruce's alarmed expression; he didn't think that anyone would notice Clark had borrowed his suit.

Bruce's eyes narrowed at his son. He could easily say, "He thought Superman would be here," or "Clark Kent did not realize he would be attending," or even, "Idiot didn't realize it was black tie," but then he would get a lecture from Dick about his communication skills, and really, wasn't Bruce the parent here?

He glanced over to where Clark was standing, idly making small talk with another reporter. Bruce had been trying to stick to direct eye contact with him all night, because if he was looking at his eyes, then he wouldn’t notice the way his own suit jacket perfectly framed Clark’s broad shoulders, or how the pants were just a little too tight around his thighs. No, Bruce would simply be captivated by the blue eyes identical in color to the sky Superman so often flew in.

“Bruce? Dad? Mr. Wayne? _Dude_?” Bruce snapped back. Dick had been trying to get his attention, holding out a stray sheet of notebook paper with his signature scribble painted across the lines.

“Yeah, anything you decide is good,” He answered, not really knowing what his son was talking about in the first place. Bruce quickly waved him away, strolling over to Clark. On the way, he grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, trying desperately to appear casual.

“So, how are you enjoying the evening?” He asked with as much nonchalance as could possibly be mustered. I mean, come on, he's The Batman. He's practically _oozing_ nonchalance.

“Oh, yeah, it’s nice,” Clark answered, gaze focus elsewhere. His glasses were sitting lopsided on his nose, white dress shirt hanging loosely around his abdomen. “Why did you need me here again?”

Bruce waved it away, not wanting to admit that _he_ had to go, but really didn’t _want_ to go, and was only reeling Clark in for company. No, if Bruce did that, it would be very… bad.

So instead, he responded with a simple shrug of his shoulder and a “It’s just important that you’re here.” Flattery can get one very far in life.

\--------------------------

An hour passed, and all Clark was thinking was _don’t look at Bruce don’t look at Bruce don’t look at Bruce don’t look at Bruce._

Because, if Clark looked at Bruce, he was basically screwed.

You see, normally it was Superman and Batman who interacted in public. Bruce and Clark would interact in public, too, but it was generally as reporter and report-ee. They never acted as friends, and they _never_ went to large-scale events like these. No, generally, when Bruce Wayne went to black-tie parties, Clark was watching them on television or interviewing other famous billionaires on the mock red carpet.

There wasn’t much of an issue with Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne socializing. The problem only came when Clark actually _looked_ at Bruce.

Perfectly framed shoulders, muscular arms outlined by his tailored suit jacket. Clark felt inadequate in his clothes, but then he remembered that he’s actually wearing _Bruce Wayne’s clothes_ and it suddenly dawned on him how personal this was.

He averted his gaze. I mean, it’s not like the two of them had waltzed in, hand-in-hand, accompanied by each other’s presence all night. No, it was just the two of them, going to the same event, as _friends_.

Clark looked back over at Bruce, who happened to be making his way towards him.

Shuffling his feet while trying to make eye contact and smile, he over-enunciated each syllable. “Good evening.”

Bruce leaned a little closer, so Clark held out his hand, thinking he was going for a handshake before being pulled into a _very_ awkward hug.

“Good to see you, buddy!” Bruce exclaimed, squeezing just a little tighter on the last word. Clark’s right hand was still obtrusively stuck between their abdomens, so he put his left arm around his companion.

The hug lasted an abnormal amount of time. Clark knew that it was all an act, that Bruce Wayne was never as drunk as he appeared, but that didn’t stop the smell of his cologne, or the tightness of his sleeves wrapped around him. The way his _own_ shirt stretched with the movement, before being reminded, once again, that it belonged to the man in his arms.

Becoming suddenly hyper aware of everyone watching them, he used his trapped hand to gently push Bruce away.

“You’re too nice, Kansas,” Bruce teased, smirk playing his lips as his eyes narrowed, brow furrowing in what could only be labeled as “possessive.” Of course, Clark knew better. It was all an act. Yet, as Bruce gestured to the man he had been talking to earlier, trying to lecture his friend, all Clark could focus on was keeping his heartbeat under control.

 _Dear God_ , Clark thought, the sight of Bruce’s illuminated smile beaming at him, framing his bright, blue eyes and Clark forgot to breathe because, suddenly, the Bruce Wayne persona didn’t seem so plastic and fake. The crinkles around his eyes digging a little deeper, his tongue pressed up behind his pristine white teeth.

And as Bruce reached over to take hold of Clark’s hand, squeezing a little tighter than necessary, Clark couldn’t help but ask, in a voice so quiet that one would need super-hearing to understand, “What have I gotten myself into?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly have no excuse for how bad this is nor how late it is so um. yikes?


End file.
